


"Now join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts."

by GrumpyJenn



Series: Real Person FICTION - That Last is Important [11]
Category: British Actor RPF, Doctor Who RPF, Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Poetry, References to Shakespeare, Scottish Play, Sexual Content, quotes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrumpyJenn/pseuds/GrumpyJenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course they know all the quotes. It's what people in their profession do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"Now join your hands, and with your hands, your hearts."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spoilersweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spoilersweetie/gifts), [areyoumarriedriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyoumarriedriver/gifts), [BrinneyFriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/gifts), [savvyliterate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/savvyliterate/gifts), [SnubNosedSilhouette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubNosedSilhouette/gifts), [Amie33](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amie33/gifts), [verylisa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verylisa/gifts), [kingstonmcbride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingstonmcbride/gifts).



> Title from Shakespeare's Henry VI, Part Three, Scene Four
> 
> Feel free to play Spot The Poet/Writer for the other quotes herein.
> 
> This is a work of FICTION

Matt wished he could be there for her. But he’d never have the courage to just say so.

 

 _The Kingston back in the U.K_., he thought wistfully, _and no time to see her, not even for her part in Mac-- for her performance in the Scottish Play._

 

Blimey, even in his thoughts, he was too well-trained an actor to say the name.

 

Tonight, opening night for her play - with Sir Kenneth no less - was the same night as the Proms. And though he’d had fun, loving Murray’s new music and the banter with Jenna on stage, and catching up with Jenna and Richard together in the block of flats after, well... Matt _missed_ her, missed Alex terribly. Even after filming in Utah and in New York, even though he knew the geography, he hadn’t quite realised how very _big_ the U.S. was. Not until he’d tried and failed to work out a weekend visit with her in L.A. from Detroit, from his last film.

 

And so what if it was a stupid fancy, if it was never likely to go anywhere, if he would never have a bloody chance with her? He still wanted to see her, flirt with her, watch her face light up when she saw him. The last few times he’d seen her in the papers she hadn’t looked at all herself; she’d looked tired, stressed. She’d sounded equally so on mobile calls. And all Matt wanted was to make that look on her face disappear, if only for a moment.

 

He hoped she was enjoying the role, at least. He imagined she was, she was probably loving it, not only working opposite Sir Kenneth, but all of it, the drama and the passion and the descent into madness and...

 

“Matt!”

 

What? Oh. “Sorry, Jen. Woolgathering.”

 

Jenna laughed, giving Matt an arch look. “Hm. I wonder who about.” She nudged Richard, against whom she was leaning tipsily - both men smiled, knowing that Jenna was a lightweight for drink - and said, “He’s a big fan of Alex Kingston you know.” Richard nodded patiently; it wasn’t like he hadn’t worked with Alex before, so he knew the effect she could have. Matt did seem to have it pretty bad. “She’s off tonight in Manchester doing _Mac_ \--mmph!”

 

“Don’t say it!” Matt nearly shouted, as Richard cut off the word with his lips. And then Matt resigned himself to waiting, rolling his eyes as they snogged each other. “Right then,” he muttered. “I’ll just take myself off over here...” Jenna giggled into Richard’s mouth and pulled away.

 

“‘M sorry, mate,” she said contritely, though Matt wasn't at all sure about the wicked gleam in her eye. “Maybe you can text her or something?”

 

Just as she said this, Matt’s mobile rang, and the ring tone - _‘It’s hard to leave when you haven’t said goodbye’_ \- made Jenna groan and roll her eyes. “ _Matt_. God, you’re sad. Well? Aren’t you going to answer it?”

 

But he already was. “Hello, Kingston,” he said, his voice dropping low of its own volition. He gestured violently to the others that he was going outside, getting some privacy. They nodded, smirking.

 

“I understand you got naked with Clara in front of the entire BBC, sweetie,” Alex said in patently false dulcet tones, but he could hear the warm smile behind the words

 

“Shut up. It’s not like that.” The response was automatic; it was always easy to slip into Doctor-and-River flirtation when he talked to Alex.

 

“I know it’s not,” she agreed, slipping effortlessly back into Alex-and-Matt, and Matt just sat, content to listen to her breathing across the miles. She broke the silence first, saying softly, “Truly, Matt, I hear it went very well. Good on you for... for keeping on as the Doctor with such grace, even after...”

 

“Yeah, well...” Matt was embarrassed; ever since he had announced he was leaving _Who_ he’d gotten even more attention than he had been before. _And I don’t really deserve it_ , he thought. _I mean, yeah, I know I’ve done well, but I couldn’t have done it without Kaz and Darvill and Alex; I hadn’t the experience, and_... he suddenly felt rather bereft, and turned the flirting back on to cover it up. “Experience is the teacher of all things,” he intoned in his best Scottish brogue, and Alex laughed.

 

“Wrong play, darling; that’s _Julius Caesar_ ,” she managed, giggling, and Matt huffed in mock indignation, secretly thrilled to hear her sounding so like herself. So much more than she had of late.

 

“Well...” he drew it out teasingly. “If my on-screen wife had gotten me tickets to see her play... maybe I could keep the roles straight.” He expected a warm chuckle, or even that little giggle, but there was silence from her end. “Alex?” There was a tiny sniffling sound. “Oh god, Alex,” Matt said, aghast, “I didn’t mean anything by it, I--”

 

“No,” Alex said. “I... I had no idea you’d even be interested, Matt; it never seemed quite your thing, though of course with Sir Kenneth directing I should have thought...”

 

“Well, it _is_ , Kingston, of course it is.” _When it’s you,_ he thought. Not that he didn’t _like_ Shakespeare, not that he wouldn’t be thrilled to be there, but she was right; of the three of them, it was Arthur who would go to plays with her, just as Kaz would take her on whirlwind shopping trips before she had to go back to the States, and Matt would...

 

Shit.

 

Matt would do anything she wanted. If he could only get up the guts to _tell_ her.

 

But he couldn’t. She’d never have him; she thought of him as a nice kid, someone safe for flirting with. Nothing more. _Can’t leave it like this though,_ he thought, _she’ll be wondering whether I really meant it soon._ “I’d like to see you in it, Alex,” he said softly, and heard an ever-so-slight intake of breath, not quite a gasp. “Surely you know I’d love to see it; what actor wouldn’t?”

 

“A bad one,” Alex said, equally softly. “Which you are emphatically not. When are you free?”

 

“Whenever you like, starting tomorrow. Festival ends late this month, yeah? I’ve got the time for once.” God, he’d love to stay for the whole time, see her every night, in the play and out. That wasn’t likely though, and he yanked his attention away from his own depressing thoughts and focussed on Alex’s voice.

 

They finished up the conversation with her yawning, and when Matt went back inside the little flat, tucking the mobile away, he realised that Jenna and Richard had gone home. He swore and pulled the mobile from his pocket to check the time. It stubbornly refused to come on, and Matt swore again when he plugged it in and saw the batteries had died.

 

Then he grinned to himself. It was past four in the morning, and he had just talked with Alex, alone, for more than three hours. He was absolutely knackered.

 

He felt wonderful.

 

\--/--

 

“Hello, sweetie,” Alex said, beaming at Matt.

 

He lounged against the doorway of her dressing room, holding a bunch of camellias behind his back. “Hi honey,” he said, “I’m home.” He held the flowers out. “Wrong play, I know. But roses seem so... _everyone_ must give you roses, Kingston. You’re bloody magnificent up there.”

 

“You know the symbolism then, do you darling?”

 

Matt nodded. “Of course.” _Camellias for passion, desire, affection,_ he thought. _Maybe this will show her, since I haven’t the courage to say it._..

 

Alex’s bright smile dimmed slightly at his words, but then she turned it back on.

 

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the flowers and kissing his cheek. She put the flowers in a ceramic mug emblazoned with the legend ‘Break a Leg at the Scottish Play,’ added a bit of water from a bottle on her dressing table, and turned back to him. “Did you really like it?” Her voice was almost wistful, and he wondered at it.

 

“God, Alex, you were amazing.”

 

“You just like me as an aging psychopath.” It was said teasingly, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in her tone, and Matt picked up on it.

 

“Alex, I...” _I just like you,_ he thought, _psychopath or not._

 

But she cut him off. “Sorry, darling, just teasing.” _No, you’re not._ “Now then, would you like to meet the cast and crew?” She laughed as his face lit up. “I knew there was an ulterior motive, honey; you didn’t come just for me.”

 

“I _did_ ,” Matt insisted. “Meeting the others is a bonus, not the main attraction.” _When did her laugh get bitter?_ he wondered. _When did she ever have to_ fish _for compliments?_ Her sense of humour had always been self-deprecating, but this... right, well. Best just keep on like his old self.

 

They went to see the other cast members and crew at a sort of after party, and Matt got his hand shaken and his back slapped, and people made silly jokes about River and the Doctor. And Alex got quieter and quieter. Her cast mates clearly thought she was tired, but then they hadn’t been there when her marriage to Florian had broken up; they didn’t yet know how to read her hiding upset and even despair... not when she had her acting face on. But the Ponds of _Who_ had been a tight-knit group, Alex no less than the rest, for all she hadn’t been on the spot as often as the others. And Matt could see that something was bothering Alex, something big.

 

Following the party, as Alex shrugged into her jacket, Matt decided he’d have to say something, find out what was going on. That’s what friends were about, right? Even if he did want more, even if he didn’t have the ghost of a chance with her, he couldn’t just leave her like this. So he wrapped a ( _friendly!_ he told himself firmly) arm around her waist and said, “May I see you home, Miss Kingston?”

 

She looked up at him and smiled, but did not meet his eyes. “Of course,” she said softly, but she stepped out of the circle of his arm, leaving him feeling bereft. “My hotel’s just down the lane.”

 

“Good,” Matt said; “Looks like we’re together again, Kingston, just as in the Cardiff flats.” She smiled at him again, and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. They walked to the hotel and up the lift to her room.

 

They stood in the doorway, and Alex looked up at Matt, meeting his eyes for the first time in hours, then quickly looking away. She made as if to kiss his cheek, but he pulled away. “Don’t.”

 

Alex looked stricken, and her expression made Matt feel just a bit sick; he had hurt her. “I...” she started and then stopped, swallowed hard.

 

Matt just wanted to reach out and haul her to him, hold her forever. Because he was sure he’d be summarily rejected if he did, he chose instead to put his hands on her shoulders, crowding her into the room and holding her in place as he said, “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Please?”

 

“It’s nothing.” The door automatically shut behind him, much as Alex’s expression did.

 

“It’s not _nothing_ , Alex. Not when you’re hurting. Tell me.” He took a deep breath and tipped up her chin with one finger, looked into the swimming green eyes. “Please.”

 

“But it’s _stupid_ ,” Alex muttered, “And you _can’t_ understand.”

 

“Try me.” Matt slid his hands down, from shoulders to elbows, and turned her away, gave her a gentle little push toward the sitting area of her room. “Sit down, Alex. Relax. And talk to me.” He followed her in and sat beside her on the little sofa, taking her hands in his. They were cold. “Now then,” he said, and waited.

 

“I _can’t_!” Her voice just killed him, hit him in the heart. What hurt even more was that she snatched her hands away.

 

 _Remain calm,_ _Smith_ , he thought, _she’s even more upset than you realised_. “Why?”

 

“Because it’s stupid, Matt!” She was nearly shouting. “It’s all little things, like my age and my second failed marriage and being away from Salome and Lady MacBee and River Song and leaving _Who_ and being typecast and the _damn_ camellias and--” Then she broke off, because Matt couldn’t help himself.

 

He kissed her.

 

And for one brief, glorious moment, she kissed him back.

 

Then she shoved him away, hard, and raised one hand to slap him, but she must have seen something in his expression that stopped her. She dropped her hand to join its mate in her lap, wringing them. “Why did you do that, Alex?” Matt could hear his own voice, very nearly Oncoming-Storm in its soft, viciously-controlled timbre, and Alex visibly flinched. “Oh, leave _off_ ,” Matt said, “Quit looking at me like I might hit you. You know I never would.” He scrubbed at his face with both hands, suddenly desperately tired, but knowing deep down that they had to work this out. Right now. Or something vital between them would change, and not for the better. “I’ve misread you, I thought - hoped - all this time that you might want--”

 

“I will _not_ ,” interrupted Alex in a soft and furious voice, clearly not listening, “be _anyone’s_ pity fuck. Not even yours.”

 

“Pity f-- Alex, are you joking?” Matt was incredulous, and angry, and most of all hurt. _She thinks I... that I would..._ He felt himself choking up and swallowed, hard. “You don’t think much of yourself - or me - if you think for one _second_ that what I feel for you is _pity_.” He shook his head, unable to say more just now for the lump in his throat..

 

Alex looked at him strangely, like she was seeing him, _really_ seeing him, for the first time. “You never said... I mean, I never said either, even when... but I was married.”

 

“Yes, you were. And I... hadn’t the courage. Or the words.”

 

Alex shook her head, riotous curls bouncing incongruously around her sombre face. “You work with words for a living, Matt.” She looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap, and then back up at him, meeting his eyes.

 

“Not my words,” Matt said. “I’m an actor, Alex, not a poet. I use other people’s words.” He reached over, carefully disentangling her fingers and holding her hands in his. “And look at what happens when I try to use my own.”

 

“You do all right,” she said, and took a deep breath. “But if you need to, use the poet’s words. I won’t mind.”

 

“I...” _What was it that had upset her so terribly? Fear of losing her looks, her youth, the job she loves. Grief and anger over the death of her marriages and being away from her child. Love and loss and fear and mourning. She needs to know it’s not all gone, and I need to prove I can tell her._ Matt took the hands he held and brought them to his lips, ghosting his mouth over the knuckles. “I have this: ‘A heart to love, and in that heart, courage to make ‘s love known.’”

 

Alex let out a shaky breath at the words and the touch. “May I play?” Matt nodded. “Any quote?” He nodded again, lips brushing over her knuckles. “‘I’m not afraid of aging, but more afraid of people’s reaction to my aging.’ I know she’s an actress, not a poet, but...”

 

“But she’s considerably older than you are, Alex,” Matt said seriously, turning her hands gently in his, “And she looks amazing.” He dropped a kiss into each of Alex’s palms, his tongue darting out. She tasted of jasmine-scented hand cream and salt. “And... ‘Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale her infinite variety.’ Alex...”

 

She gasped as the lips and the tongue slid over the pulse in her wrist and up her arm. “‘The course of true love never did run smooth.’ I’ve learned that the hard way. And... _oh!_ ” Matt had nipped the hollow of her elbow gently with his teeth, then soothed it with his tongue. He brought his head up and looked at her.

 

“‘A kiss,” he said simply, “is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous.’” And he suited word to deed, shifting to lay his lips on hers.

 

The kiss was both like, and unlike, the kisses they’d shared for the camera. Like in the gentle press of lips, Matt’s hands framing Alex’s face, mingled scents of tea and the sweets Matt kept in his pocket and the jasmine hand cream.

 

Unlike in the _reality_ of it all.

 

Matt just sank in, tasting her mouth and stroking her lips with his. _God, she tastes good_ , he thought, _so very_ herself _, Alex, I.._. and his thoughts rambled off into incoherence as he gave into pure sensation.

 

Alex broke the kiss, laughing softly as Matt tried to follow her mouth with his. “‘I could kiss you all night,’” she quoted herself, then went on. “But right now I want more.”

 

“‘And I you, Miss Kingston.’ Both. _Please_.”

 

“‘Whenever and wherever you want. But not all the time...’ Her voice was steady but her eyes ever so slightly troubled, as though she feared he would reject her. _Or finish the line,_ Matt thought; _on some level she still thinks I see her as the aging psychopath._ He eased back, sliding his hands from her face down her arms to hold her hands in his.

 

“Why did the camellias bother you, Alex? I only wanted to bring you... something different, unique. I never meant to hurt--” She freed one hand and touched it to his lips.

 

“You said you understood the symbolism,” Alex said gently, “And for a moment I thought you meant--” _What? Oh! Oh, you thought..._

 

Matt kissed the fingertips she held against his lips. “I meant the symbolism of the _flowers_ , Alex, not the story behind them. I don’t think of you as a... a courtesan. When I think of you, I... I... ‘You were made perfectly to be loved - and surely I have loved you, in the idea of you, my whole life long.’”

 

“I know. I knew nearly right away, but there was that first moment when I thought...”

 

“You thought it was pity,” Matt said gently, then grasped her hips and pulled her against him, lying back into the arm of the couch. “Does that feel like pity, Alex?” He muttered it into her ear as he held her hips tightly against his, and her eyes widened as she shook her head.

 

Taking a deep breath, Alex seemed to come to a decision. Her eyes still wide and dark, she said softly, “‘Friendship is Love without his wings.’ Shall we add the wings, Matt?”

 

And then she kissed him.

 

The first kiss had been soft, and searching, and sweet. But _this_... this kiss was demanding, hot and wet, and all teeth and tongues, and Matt heard himself moan into Alex’s mouth as she more or less ate him alive. “ _Christ_ , Alex, I...”

 

“Need you, Matt,” she panted as she kissed her way along his jaw to his neck, her hands wandering, and he moaned her name again.

 

“Alex.” Matt wanted this to go on forever, but if she kept on as she was, well... he grabbed at her hands, stopping them before they went too far, and this ended before it began. “Alex...” He couldn’t think of any poetry in their little game to tell her to slow down, _please_ , before... but he did know some lines...  “Alex, Rule Seven. Please,” he gasped out, and she laughed a wicked, throaty little laugh as she pulled away.

 

“‘Never run when you’re scared?’ But I’m not scared, Matt, not anymore.” Her lips curved in a wicked smile to match the laugh. “Are you?”

 

“Yes!” _Now it’s real, it’s too fast, I want this to last, I..._ Only then, when she chuckled, did he realise he’d said that last bit aloud.

 

“Mm... I do move quickly once I’ve made up my mind.” Alex smiled at Matt again and stood up. Holding out her hand, she helped haul him to his feet. “But I can work on that. ‘Let’s go hand in hand, not one before another.’” Tugging him toward the bed, she sat down on it and pulled him down next to her. He tried to speak and she shook her head, placing her fingers against his lips again. “Will you show me how you feel, darling? With words or without, your words or poets’ words; I don’t care. Just show me.”

 

Matt swallowed hard, and sucked one of the fingers on his lips into his mouth, then let it go. “‘Hear my soul speak,” he whispered, eyes on hers, and kissed the fingers. “Of the very instant that I saw you, did my heart fly at your service.’ Lie back, Alex, and let me love you.” He slid one hand behind Alex’s neck and gently lowered her to lie across the bed.

 

Kissing her lips softly, Matt could feel that Alex was holding back, letting him take the lead in this, and he throttled his own need back. He undid the fastenings on her little jacket and lifted her slightly to pull it off, leaving her in a t-shirt and soft yoga trousers. “May I?” he asked, gesturing at the trousers, and Alex nodded. “Lift your hips.”

 

She did so, and Matt slipped the trousers and knickers off together, sliding them down her legs and letting them fall to the floor. He deliberately avoided looking at the skin thus revealed, and ran his hands lightly up the outside curve of thigh and hip to tug at the hem of her t-shirt, only to discover as he pulled it up that there was nothing but Alex underneath. “‘Look at you,” he breathed almost reverently, quoting the Doctor as he pulled the soft fabric over her head. “Oh, you sexy thing. _Look_ at you.’”

 

And then he kissed her. He didn’t touch anywhere but her lips, not yet; he wanted this to last as long as it could. As long as _he_ could, to make it right for her. _I’ve waited so long,_ he thought, _what’s another few minutes?_ And so Matt knelt on the bed beside Alex’s head, careful not to pull any of the tumbled curls that lay strewn about her like a halo, and he kissed her.

 

When Alex sighed happily into his mouth, however, Matt couldn’t resist anymore, and he let his hands begin to wander. He started by cradling her face in his hands, stroking her jaw with long fingers as the sighs of pleasure got longer and more frequent. “Matt, darling...” It was a breathy whisper against his lips. “Touch me.”

 

Matt groaned and pulled himself away from her lips, resting his forehead gently on hers for just a moment, as he closed his eyes and collected himself. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes and looked into Alex’s, then kissed her lips almost chastely before burying his hands in the wealth of her hair. He dropped little kisses along the line of her jaw, and when he reached her ear, breathed, “‘I’ll make it a good one.’”

 

“‘You’d better,’” Alex moaned, and - _finally_ \- reached for him.

 

This kiss was both sweet and hot, and Matt’s body strained toward Alex even as his hands slipped out of her hair and along her collarbone to her breasts. She let out a little sound, halfway between a whimper and a gasp, as his mouth left hers and followed his hands down. The sound made Matt impossibly harder, and he moaned around her nipple, his long fingers stroking along the slope of her waist toward her core.

 

And then it was all hands gliding along golden curves, and lips suckling at puckered flesh, and moans and sighs and little whimpers, and then Matt’s fingers reached the tighter curls, and Alex arched her back urgently. “Please, Matt, _now_.” He raised his head from her breast to look at her face, and watched it contort with pleasure as he slipped two fingers below the nest of curls and stroked her.

 

“You like that, Alex?” Matt kept stroking, talking, endearments and promises, as he kissed and licked and nipped his way down her body. His voice vibrated against her nipple, the underside of her breast, her waist, her navel... and finally he tasted her. Alex’s hips flew off the bed, and her moans increased in frequency and pitch and volume as he stroked her, inside and out, with fingers and tongue and lips. He could feel her walls tightening, fluttering around his fingers, and he sealed his lips around the little bundle of nerves and sucked hard.

 

Alex shouted Matt’s name on a gasp, and came. He withdrew his fingers and held onto her hips, steadying her as she fell apart, and gentled the firm suckling down to soft strokes of his tongue. _Yes_ , he thought, _just like that, god, Alex, so..._  When she finally shuddered to a halt, Matt shifted to look into her eyes. “So beautiful, Alex,” he said hoarsely, and she pulled him down for a kiss.

 

“‘It is not sex that gives the pleasure,” she said softly in what was obviously another quote, “but the lover.’”

 

He smiled down at her. “I don’t know that one,” he admitted. “But I like it.” One hand crept back toward her centre, and she caught it lightly by the wrist.

 

“Oh no, darling,” she said, smiling at him. “The next go is a mutual one.” She let go his wrist and slipped her hand down, undoing his trouser zip as he held his breath. “‘Well, _hello_ , sweetie,’” she said in a naughty tone as she shoved his trousers and pants down his legs, then took his length into her warm little hand and gave it a firm stroke.

 

“ _Christ_ , Alex!” Matt shuddered and grabbed her wrist. “You’d better stop, or I won’t last,” he muttered into her ear, “And I want to be _inside_ you. Please.”

 

“Condoms?”

 

“Shit! Haven’t got any with me,” Matt said, ready to cry with frustration, and began to pull away, but Alex took a firmer grip on him and he moaned.

 

“Just as well I can’t get pregnant then,” Alex all but purred into his ear, then stopped as he froze.

 

“You... you’d trust me with that?” he choked out, and she let go of him and framed his face in her hands.

 

“Always, Matt,” she said softly, “And completely.” And the she kissed him, long and slow and deep, and wriggled around until she lay under him. “Now.”

 

 _Alex_ , Matt thought, _when she finally gives her trust, she... oh god, Alex!_ His aching length was sheathed now, in warm and wet and _tight_ , and his thoughts grew more and more incoherent as they moved together. She was making little mewling noises, and Matt thought that if they hadn’t already been intimately connected, the sounds alone might undo him entirely. They moved, stroking and pinching and licking and soothing, wherever they could reach, and Matt wasn't sure he could hold out much longer. “Come for me, Alex,” he panted in her ear, “I want to feel you around me. Please...”

 

And then Alex reared back so she could look into his eyes, took his hand, and placed it between them, using her hand and his to rub her to a shuddering climax. Her eyes never left his, and as she came, she chanted his name, and _yes, please, right there, now, Matt, now, please!_ and together they shattered and came to rest at last.

 

Later - whether minutes or hours, Matt wasn’t sure - as their pounding hearts slowed to a sleepy beat, he withdrew, turning them both on their sides and spooning Alex. She murmured sleepily, and he nuzzled behind her ear. “Hmm?”

 

“Will you stay?”

 

“As long as you’ll have me. ‘So fall asleep, love, loved by me... for I know, love, I am loved by thee.’”

 

And as they both drifted off, he thought - perhaps - her whispered reply was...

 

“‘Always.’”

 

 


End file.
